


all the lights (and all this to stay)

by echotovalley



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echotovalley/pseuds/echotovalley
Summary: When Lance's plus one for the holiday season has to cancel, Lance decides to ask Keith to go with him instead. He’s looking for someone that won’t cancel last minute, someone who won’t flake. Which completely mystifies Keith on why Lance would choose him when he’s literally seen Keith flake out of any number of social things in real time.This is going to play out like a bad Hallmark movie and Keith's going to make a complete idiot of himself, he can feel it in his bones - all because he doesn't know how to say no to Lance McClain.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	all the lights (and all this to stay)

* * *

It’s such a weirdly specific moment - one that only Lance McClain can make possible - but Keith _swears_ they’ve done this before.

That he has smelled Lance’s cologne from across his kitchen, the All I Want For Christmas song playing at a muffled volume in the distance so that it sounds more like a threat (even weirder because they’re in Keith’s apartment and he doesn’t just listen to Christmas music from an entirely different room in his apartment and definitely not this early?), and Keith is trapped in a social obligation to answer the conversation starter by a fuck ton of Dawn dish soap sudsed up to his wrists.

Except he doesn’t get the comforting sense of knowing what will happen next or how this all ends. It’s really the tone and the set up that’s so crystal clear in his mind, the words out loud are hazy. It isn’t like memorizing a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure for the best dialogue option.

“You- I- _What?”_

And as always, he’s trying to recover his footing.

Sensory wise - it’s a lot.

Lance’s answer is to huff as he taps his thumb against his phone screen and a few things manage to click into place as the muffled Christmas music switches over to something else, a low soft beat that’s familiar and puts Keith a little more at ease. It’s just a fact that at any given moment, Lance is fiendishly connected to someone’s bluetooth speaker and more than comfortable with setting the background mood wherever he goes. 

Which isn’t as bad as Keith will make it out to be later, Lance has good taste in music and has branched out Keith’s Spotify history more than he will ever admit.

(Even if Keith is more of a Christmas music after Thanksgiving kind of guy.)

So yeah, if Keith focuses past the multiple layers of nuance batting against him, he can recall Lance picking up Keith’s little bluetooth speaker, balancing it carefully from hand to hand with a mildly affronted look when Keith told him it wasn’t working.

Guess he got it to work.

At least the music is softer, less insistent - less threatening.

Keith breathes out and Lance hums, an unspoken thanks and you’re welcome passing between them.

Whatever relief he feels from the change in music is knocked out of the park when Lance crosses Keith’s kitchen to lean against the counter right beside the sink. Turns out the triumphant and pressing _DA-DAH-DAH-DA_ from MC has nothing on Lance’s cologne this close up in terms of level of threat.

Because Keith knows not one inch of this -

Lance’s nice cologne for special occasions.

The black turtle neck he’s wearing.

The thin, gold chain falling smoothly out from the folds of the collar of his shirt.

Tiniest amount of gel in his hair.

The open disappointment scrunching Lance’s eyebrows - that one he’ll take gratefully. Being the source of ire is a lot more taxing than expressly only being part of the recovery effort; to which Lance has purposely singled him out for apparently.

It isn’t for him.

It isn’t for him to enjoy the way it all comes together (obviously not the disappointment part) on Lance. Definitely doesn’t touch the idea of how soft the material of his shirt must feel with a 39-and-a-1/2 foot pole. Nope, not him. _Certainly_ not looking at how he’s got his sleeves rolled up a little.

An early Friendsgiving - that’s what Lance went to, branched out like the other side of your cousin’s family that existed wholly separate from Keith and Pidge and Hunk. Some girl Keith didn’t personally know had agreed to be Lance’s plus one, as friends. She couldn’t make it or something, Lance wasn’t really into dishing too many details on that front and Keith was happy not to pry.

Is it harder not to stare at the smooth, long line of Lance’s neck where he hangs his head? Yes.

He’ll admit to that.

“If the answer’s no, that’s all you have to say.” Lance folds his arms across his chest, fingers plucking at the material of his sleeve. He’s weirdly on the defensive - like early, fumbling days of their friendship defensive and it throws Keith for a loop.

“No, I- ask it again?”

“Why?” When he’s upset and cuts his eyes, the color of Lance’s eyes shift like a storm rolling over the ocean.

Something else Keith is probably more fascinated by than he should be. He has no business chasing storms.

Keith takes a measured breath, doing his best to put Lance back at ease with whatever body language he can use with his hands still scrubbing the inside of a glass. “Because I don’t know if I heard you right.”

“You did hear right, but sure.” He still has Lance on the defensive and he can, unfortunately, think of a thousand different ways to take back the tension that lays over Lance’s shoulders like a stiff frost. “Would you be my plus one to the other few little parties I was invited to?”

Keith turns to Lance with a dripping plate in his hand, gesturing the dish around in the best _‘Are you serious’_ manner he can manage. “You wouldn’t want me tagging along to your parties, Lance. What about me screams ‘Eager for awkward, crowded holiday parties’? Because I’d like to change it.”

Lance prepare to snark back, but Keith raises his eyebrows at him. A beat of silent conversation passing between them.

“Because you don’t care.” Without skipping a beat, Lance smiles - it’s small and almost fragile - and takes the plate from Keith’s hand, picking up the dish towel from the counter to wipe off most of the excess water before placing it in the drying rack.

“But you do, that’s the main problem I think would need addressing.”

“Free food?” Lance ducks.

Keith rolls his eyes, it’s not Lance’s best work as far as distracting Keith from what was really bothering him, but he’s not so much of an asshole to grill him about it fresh off getting stood up. So he hands Lance another plate and plays along for the sake of getting back to regular Lance. “Not all free food is good food, Lance.”

“Guaranteed _good_ free food?” Lance’s voice breaks on the guaranteed, causing them both to flinch the same moment Lance miscalculates placing another clean plate in the dish drainer and it scrapes against another.

It catches both of them off guard, shoulders scrunching up to their ears at the same time. 

Keith clears his throat, carefully handing Lance a glass to dry off. “You don’t sound too sure.”

“Look, _I’m_ not in charge of every dish any given person is going to bring and the odds that someone makes something horrible is kind of likely but at least you’d have me to suffer with and complain to. Isn’t it a trademark of Christmas to bond over the one bad dish?”

He rolls his eyes - there was that one year he and Lance had to grit past some recipe Shiro found on pinterest and made them try first because they were immediately available, Lance isn’t entirely wrong. Still— “Why can’t you go alone? All of these parties you go to are with people you already know.”

“Because it’s depressing not to have someone to go with after you’ve already RSVP’d with a plus one. Most of them are going to be couples and I can only take so many pitying looks. If I bring someone at least then they ease up off the gas. And if one more person tries to set me up for the holidays, I’m going to go insane.”

Okay, wait. Keith blinks and picks back over Lance’s words.

“So, you’re looking for a fake dating thing?” The second the words fall out of his mouth, Keith wants to kick himself for what has to be one of stupidest things he may be accusing Lance of. Because what in the Hallmark movie-

“Uh, no?” The look on Lance’s face is almost a sneer, it has something diving heavy to the pit of Keith’s stomach. “Even if you just bring someone as a friend, it’s still better than just showing up by yourself. I’m pretty sure they know I’m not seeing anyone, let alone whoever I bring. I’m pretty transparent when I’m dating someone.”

Not that he rules in favor of fake dating, but fake dating Keith can’t be worst thing for Lance, right?

Wait, that’s bad. Never in the history of ever has that not backfired on all involved and been a complete mess.

He’s got to regain some ground here and make a promise to himself not to give into Shiro the next time he wants holiday sibling bonding time watching only Hallmark movies. He’s pretty sure he can swing Die Hard as a solid holiday sibling bonding film if he really applies himself and pays for pizza from their favorite place.

“You realize there’s a good chance some of the other people invited to these things will also be single, right? You love that kitschy stuff.” Now is as good as time as ever to be suddenly be invested in scrubbing down a pan in favor of looking at Lance when he asks.

“If I showed up and tried to pick someone up, then I would just look sus and desperate.”

Keith gives the pan over to Lance and smirks. “Well, you’re certainly not one of those things. But yes, of course, how could I suggest you do what you do every other day of the year and try to pick someone up. Which is how dating happens.”

 _“Keeith.”_ Lance snatches a dripping mug out of Keith’s hand. “I’m not that bad. Also, bold choice of words from someone that’s just as single.”

“Camaraderie, _Lance._ Maybe they would find comfort in not being the only person that came alone.” He bites his tongue before his mouth can get ahead of him and say a thing that will ruin their thing they have going, lets the stupid, phantom thought echo only in his head. 

“Maybe they’re hoping they won’t be the only one there without a plus one or whatever. And if you truly are the only desperate, suspicious loner than it certainly wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“Brilliant motivational speech, the crowds are losing their mind. Standing ovation. There’s whispers of scheduling a tour starting at Carnegie.” Lance whips the drying towel at Keith’s shoulder. “Not all of us can just roll up by ourselves in a leather jacket and frumpy hair and pull it off.”

He elbows Lance. “You know, I think you put a compliment in there somewhere.” 

“Don’t let it go to your ego.” Lance elbows him back, his smile a little bigger and stronger, more sure of itself.

Keith _isn’t sure_ how he feels about hearing loud and clear the thing Lance is dancing around - he’s looking for someone that won’t cancel last minute, someone who won’t flake. Which completely mystifies Keith on why Lance would choose him when he’s literally seen Keith flake out of any number of social things in real time.

For a brief moment, Keith is afraid he’s been found out, that Lance knows somehow that Keith won’t say no to him because he’s Lance.

A lot of trust packed into one simple question.

Something to unpack at a much later date.

Or maybe never, that works for Keith just as well.

Keith takes a deep breath. 

“How many parties?”

“Hm, what?” Lance is trying to organize the silverware in the cup of the dish drainer where they’ll stay and won’t slide or flip out. He’s focused and it’s incredibly endearing.

_“How many.”_

Lance bristles a bit before turning back to Keith. There’s a heinous amount of unbridled relief and joy just cresting beneath the surface, ready to spill over the second Keith confirms that Lance is now the one that’s definitely hearing right. “Three?”

“Mmm.” 

Three’s a lot when you’re Keith.

“And one New Year’s one if-“

_“If?”_

Lance throws up his hands when Keith cuts his eyes at him. “You don’t absolutely hate it - that _if._ I mean, obviously at any point you hate it you can drop out. I mean, if you cut the chord before any of the promised-”

_“Theoretical.”_

“-good food, I’d be a little bummed, but we would go the second you say so.”

There’s a precipice here.

Steep and dark that would send him barreling down into an abyss of enabling and complacency. Something he doesn’t think he’ll be able to crawl, climb, and fight his way back out of. He’d be lying if he said that wasn’t a little bit promising. Kind of drawing in a way that Keith could know certain things once and for all. The light and relief that blooms over Lance’s features when Keith nods makes him feel a little guilty.

He isn’t saying yes because he’s the best friend in the universe.

His acceptance isn’t so holy and exculsive.

Because there is a part of Keith that is wild and selfish, tired of staying quiet and day-by-day gaining more strength to speak up. There’s still a crushing amount of fear hanging over his heart, but it isn’t outweighing his curioisty anymore. He’s losing the weight of uncertainty too - because he knows Lance is one of his best friends and if he doesn’t feel the same way, one of the brilliantly irritating traits he has is the inability to leave someone on their own.

He still feels like all of this has been done before.

A _thousand_ times before.

The music from the living room increases just enough to make itself known, to make the words and tune unavoidable, making the small, shy smile of Lance’s slowly grow into a smirk as he punches the volume button on the side of his phone and Keith lets it happen. Keith doesn’t give him trouble for playing Christmas music a little too early for his taste when the shadow of the boy dressed nicely in disappointment melts away. It circles the drain just like the dish water and last remaining suds.

_Christmas, Christmas time is near - time for…._

The last fading notes of Christmas music fall away when Lance pockets his phone to pull on his coat half an hour later, shooting a smile and a wink over his shoulder when he steps out of Keith’s apartment into the November chill. But the notes flow through Keith’s mind, ebbing and flowing in a mix of different songs. Half lyrics strung together to make five songs one.

There’s the residual buzz of ‘yes’ on his tongue and a slight pressure at his temples, and the sound of Shiro’s slow blink he’s sure to get echoing between his ears when the lock clicks into place.

* * *

It’s too late to be considered late, and entirely too early to be morning, it’s a godawful hour Keith sits bolt upright in bed at.

Here is where he realizes that he didn’t ask Lance what he should wear or really consider if he has the appropriate wardrobe for an actual adult Christmas party, let alone the skill.

His eyes betray him by looking in the direction of his closet because it’s the easier of the two to hyper focus on at the moment. Keith catches himself, throws his body back against the bed and yanks the covers up over his eyes because 1) nope, he’s not doing that - not tonight - he has work the next morning (in a few hours) and 2) what would Lance li -

He’s startled awake by his alarm for work, unto a fresh wave of panic of forcing himself to focus on the task at hand (getting ready for work) and not tearing through his closet in a frenzy, because he has plenty of time and his closet will still be there when he gets back home, yeah?

Thirty seconds before he throws himself out the door, he finds in the depths of his closet a sweater that’s a little oversized and criminally soft and surprisingly not black or very dark gray (unsurprisingly with the tags still on it). He can dial it back at least a little knowing he doesn’t have to start from scratch.

Work is work, but better than most places because Allura doesn’t play holiday music until December 1st.

Nothing against it, she just doesn’t want to set any kind of holiday rush tone on a perfectly quiet Monday afternoon.

But the extra spare time between customers gives her the opportunity to notice that Keith’s brain is doing a thing.

Allura isn’t one to pry too much and for that he’s thankful. She just tilts her chin and gives him a quick once over. “Are you alright?”

He can feel himself flush a little under her gaze, it’s knowing and almost amused because she has a keen sense of when he’s panicking over something ridiculous and when it’s more serious. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

It’s a sad sell that comes up short of convincing her. She quirks her eyebrow and he knows it’s only a matter of time before he gives in. For now, she’s fine with allowing him to pretend that that’s that when the bell over the front door dings to announce the arrival of a customer shuffling in from the cold.

* * *

And that’s how he winds up shopping for clothes with Shiro and Allura exactly four days after Thanksgiving because other than the one sweater that still had the tags dangling from the sleeve, there’s an unimpressive amount of black and two or three Christmas style sweaters that either swear or reference something in his closet.

It was a perfectly honorable tradition Keith and Pidge started a couple of years ago, but because he was dumb enough to ask for help from Shiro and Shiro saw his options, they were seized and Keith was told to get in the car.

Holiday cheer or just straight up pity for Keith, Shiro blessedly didn’t take a shot at his dignity or ask too many questions about suddenly having plans outside of his usual holiday itinerary.

Christmas music is playing over the store’s speakers, it isn’t too much - at the moment, Keith knows though it’s only a matter of a ticking time bomb before All I Want For Christmas blasts through the speakers and shakes the windows. It’s the world’s worst roulette and there’s nothing he can do about it but until then he’s going to pretend he can prepare and get through a conversation without completely spacing out.

“So how does Allura fit into all of this?” Keith pretends to shuffle through a few shirts on a circular rack, sliding the hangers a bit so Shiro thinks he’s actually taking an active part in this.

His dear brother, elbows deep in a rack against the wall with his back to Keith, lurches out of the vacuum of sweaters in a poor mimicry of the Narnia movie.

For her part, Allura pretends to not notice that Keith isn’t executing a proper search and seems perfectly content to go through a few racks while watching Shiro struggle in and out of thicker garments. She hums, her short hair bouncing against her jawline with her laughter when Shiro finally frees himself completely to turn to Keith.

“Do you remember the clothes I wore to the work holiday party last year?”

“Yeah.”

“And how nice they were?”

Keith tilts his head, squinting up at the ceiling in thought, a metallic snowflake spins on its chord from the air spilling from the vents. “I recall maybe not being able to roast you as quickly as I normally do.”

Shiro points to Allura. “That was all her. She knocks it out of the park every time. Besides, we all know whatever I would have suggested or picked out you would have hated and adamantly refused to even try on.”

Which is a fair assessment.

Not because Shiro doesn’t know how to pick out a good outift (not to say that he had a perfectly clean track record), but mostly because Keith lived to heckle his older brother. Speaking of which—

“Not necessarily, if it was actually good, I wouldn’t mind. Not everyone loves a good old man, wool sweater with elbow patch.”

Shiro opens his mouth to snap back, but Allura steps up to shove a handful of clothes into Keith’s arms. Keith has to scramble to keep the shirts and pair of slacks in his arms.

“You, go find a dressing room.” Allura put her hands on his shoulders to turn him in the opposite direction, giving Keith a gentle but hearty push forward. “You’re both _the worst.”_

Of course when Allura had set his course for the dressing room, that didn’t mean he was going alone. Oooh no. 

Keith asked for Allura’s help and that was an all inclusive package: trying on, coming out to show them how he looked in the things she had picked out, a full assesment of what he liked or didn’t like about the particular pieces. Shiro making arguments about whether or not he would wear something more than once. He feels like he’s a kid shopping for the start of a new school year and not a fully grown adult that is simply in over his head.

He doesn’t have bad taste _necessarily_. It’s nothing flashy or presumptive and absolutely fucking not about drawing attention. Allura’s here for the variety. The kind of variety that isn’t trying too hard and will impress Lance’s Other Friends™, maybe even inspire them to have a fraction of curiosity in Keith that he has for them, the faceless figures of Other.

And impress Lance.

To show that he’s trying.

Looking at the small pile of clothes bundled in his arms in the dressing room mirror is…daunting. Keith hoped he had been doing a decent job of dialing down the anxious energy that was coursing through his veins to the beat of - what? what is _even playing?_ \- a mangled cover of Jingle Bell Rock. His heart is losing its shit to Jingle Bell Rock. It’s written clear across his face in the dressing room mirror how just a smidge too out of his depth he is.

Keith forces himself to take a steadying breath.

Makes himself calmly place the clothes on the hooks mounted against the wall.

Focus and assess - within reason.

Nothing wildly out of his comfort zone but different enough. He can never be more thankful for her, she just _gets_ him. 

Allura has gone easy on him he notices as he runs his hand over the shoulders of the shirts she’s picked out when he takes a closer look.

Everything is nice and soft.

Two different color sweater cardigans with a folded collar.

A knit sweater.

A long sleeved shirt that’s such a deep shade of burgundy, he has trouble convincing himself to look away from it.

As he starts to haul his own shirt over his head, it occurs to him that he doesn’t really know how someone could be impressed by something named ‘Oatmeal Heather’, but he’s at least willing to give it a shot.

And coming in and out of the dressing room turns out to not be the worst thing to happen to him. 

He leaves with one of the cardigans with the folded cardigan - not the Oatmeal Heather, no surprise there - still with a vaguely ridiculous name called Grey Herringbone, a knit sweater with a chunky pattern in navy, and the burgundy shirt. He’s relieved the trip takes no more than an hour between Allura doing most of the work while Keith and Shiro pretended to seriously comb over other racks, and trying them on.

In the end, as they’re piling into Allura’s car, he isn’t ultimately hating life the way clothes shopping usually does to him.

Now that they’re pulling out of the parking lot, he’s left with the existential crisis of going to complete strangers’ holiday parties. Hopes with every fiber of his being that Shiro and Allura are too wrapped up in a discussion about where to go for lunch to hear the gears in his head turning at break neck speed.

He isn’t that lucky he realizes, when he accidentally meets Shiro’s eyes in the side view mirror. In another stroke of brotherly love, Shiro doesn’t say anything or try to convey an entire conversation with just one look before he glances back to Allura to answer her question.

—

His brother’s mercy lasts long enough for them to get back to his place, Shiro could only combat his overtly curious nature in every facet of Keith’s life to a certain point.

“I’m a mere mortal, Keith.”

Keith takes a sip of the fresh coffee in his mug. “You’re a helicopter mom.”

“If I was a helicopter mom, I would have already grilled you about where you were going, who with, and what their phone numbers were, buddy.”

“Is that not what you’re asking now?”

The whole balls-deep-in-fall-to-winter-wear thing must have hit some nerve, tripped the switch Keith tries every year to push back as far as he can, because now it’s the hard worn cardboard box that’s more duct tape than actual box the tree is kept in that Shiro is almost laying in to pull out parts to assemble their old tree.

“Nope.”

Usually Keith can at least sweet talk Shiro into waiting after Thanksgiving to decorate. But with age comes a sense of loss of time (or refusal to acknowledge it all really) because it seems like the tree gets put up earlier and earlier and stays up later and later each year. He knows when to pick his fights though, especially with the Christmas music playing distantly in another room (which sidebar: why is that suddenly a trend?). One smarmy comeback and Keith could find himself being blasted by Burl Ives in the same room.

“Then what are you asking?”

“I guess what’s this really about? You sound like you want to hear a certain thing and I’m going to need a little more to go on.” Shiro says it with a mountain of patience, with the tiniest twist of amusement as he stares down a fake tree limb to determine which categorized pile it goes in.

“You’re being oddly chill.”

“Please, I’m luring you into a false sense of security before I take my shot.”

“And candidly transparent.”

“So?”

“So.” Keith takes a deep breath because there’s no way he’s going to be able to make this not sound stupid. He sets his mug down and doesn’t break eye contact with the bead of condensation rolling its way down the side. “Lance usually has a plus one for like work holiday parties or whatever and the friend he was going with this year bailed on him last minute for all of them, so he asked me if I wanted to go?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He snaps his head up in time to see Shiro wrestle part of the base together. “So, _okay,_ I agreed to just waltz up to other peoples’ holiday parties—“ 

“Not exactly breaking and entering.”

“—I’m going to meet Lance’s _other_ friends. Which is weird to think about, I guess. He’s told us work buddy stories before, but does he tell them stories about us? If he has, _what do they know?_ Do they think they’re the main group and we’re the outsiders? What if I make us look bad?”

“That’s the reason for the clothes thing, huh?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

Shiro sets his hands on his hips, studying the neat piles on the floor before he decides now is the time for direct eye contact. “You’ve gotta take a deep breath every now and again, Keith. Don’t overthink it - which I know is so unlike you. You’re worried about preconceptions that might not even be a thing.”

He thinks he likes the no-eye-contact bit better. Shiro’s looking at him in that way that makes him feel like he’s under a microscope and at any second, Shiro’s going to go light up with the discovery of every panicked thought zipping through Keith’s head. Keith needs to gain some ground here, come off a little more settled.

“It’s just -“ Keith throws in a casual drink from his drink. “-it’s like thinking about your cousins having other cousins you don’t even know about.”

“Oddly specific analogy from someone that doesn’t have cousins, but okay, yeah.” Shiro scoots the empty tree box a little bit more out of the way to set out on assembly.“I highly doubt Lance would ask you to go with him if he thought you were an embarrassment. Me personally? I would have asked you to fewer things if you were.”

“Amazing.”

“And do you want to know what I think?”

“Oh god.” He really just wants to take his coffee and sink to the floor behind a cabint because this open floor plan in his brother’s place is killing him. Let Shiro forget he’s even here.

“I think Lance came to you because he likes being around you and, I can’t believe I’m saying this, you actually have the potential to behave when you’re together.”

“He told me it was because he didn’t want to look lonely after RSVP’ing with a plus one that’s not going to be there or like he was trying to pick someone up with some Lonely Hearts Club Hallmark bullshit if he went by himself.”

“Now _that’s_ a good swear word Christmas sweater saying.” 

Shiro really doesn’t have to underline his point gesturing with one of the fake branches of the tree.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Would it be so bad if you peeled back the band-aid at least a little bit?”

“I would literally die.”

“Right, right. Stupid of me to even suggest such a thing.”

Shiro knowing Keith may (does) have feelings for his best friend isn’t the worst. In a way, it’s a relief. Keith can count on one hand the number of times they’ve mentioned any of it out loud and this directly. 

Shiro picked up on it at some point and didn’t confirm not deny knowing until Keith did first.

Weird quiet, sibling understanding that was communicated with a lot of eyebrow raises.

As much as he hated the knowing dad friend looks, they really did have their merit in times like these when the word _pining_ threatens to be brought up and make itself at home in conversation.

It was his big brother way of telling Keith it wasn’t such a big deal because having feelings is natural (as much as it pained Keith to accept), but the words are there all the same. It was a reminder to get out of his own head every once and awhile. Hung on Keith’s conscious with care. 

He wants his agreement to go with Lance to just be him being a good friend and taking the extra time to hang out with Lance because they’re friends. He doesn’t want whatever extra he feels to change that into something different. Something it’s not.

But it’s there.

“It isn’t a crime to take your shot, you know. Or toe the waters for a deeper insight, get a look at something from a different angle. A little selfishness is kind of a requirement to do anything about it. Everyone has been there at some point, Keith.”

Has Keith mentioned he’s thankful Shiro’s full focus is on slotting the branches into the center base of the tree in the right order with his back to Keith?

“Sometimes you just have to let go a little bit, you know? Easier said than done, I know. But, whichever way it falls, you know I’m here.”

“So if I completely ruin our friendship, we can move across the country and start over again?”

“I was thinking more of ordering pizza and watching movies, we should save skipping town for something good and I want time in advance to come up with a good backstory.”

“But I-“

“Are you going to mope or do I need to bring the speaker in here?”

Keith snaps his mouth shut, opens it again, and scrunches his eyebrows because— fuck.

He scoffs, “You got me in a box here.”

“That’s the spirit. Now, get over here and help me.”

* * *

When he goes home later that night, ready to fall into bed and covered in glitter from a few of the oranaments he helped hang, Keith does feel a little better. For a moment, he can breathe easier. 

**Author's Note:**

> usually I take months to work up the courage to post something that isn't a 5k and under oneshot, so I'm a little nervous. hope this is a good start. thank you for reading. let me know how you like it!


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